Delicious
by Alone in the Desert
Summary: As in so many other fics, Briar returns home from his travels and reveals some unexpected emotional turns. Slash, standalone


Delicious

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Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me. Written for the Dancing Dove's Second SFF Challenge.

Soft sounds permeated the cool, clear night above Winding Circle. Nocturnal insects buzzed and a light, chilly breeze breathed above the sleeping temple city. At such a late hour, very few people were awake, even in this always busy center of craft and academia. Briar, however, was unable to sleep. Perhaps what kept him awake was the excitement of returning to the closest thing he had to a home after years of errancy, wandering beneath scrawling paths under the whispering eaves of the trees.

He himself was perplexed as to why he was awake when his traveling companions all slept soundly in their beds. His feet led him in a silent homage to the peaceful trails of the temple, reacquainting. Something tugged inside him, compelling, drawing him through a familiar route of all his old haunts. He trod quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping plants with his effervescent presence.

Familiarity exceeded its own boundaries when his nose picked up the scents of rosemary, garlic and cumin. Faint moonlight glinted on the slim trickling in the watering channels. A shadow towered over him: the Hub. Like a memory almost gone but recently retrieved, his heart leaped at the sight of the tower's doors, never locked even when they were shut. Behind them lay all that was safe and comforting and, most importantly, plentiful, to a last-chance guttersnipe who found all three alien. The temptation was, as ever, too much to resist.

Pushing the door open a crack, he peered inside. There was something almost sad about seeing the temple's most constantly bustling room empty and quiet, pans and ladles and jars of spices all sedately lying in their rightful places. Briar fought the urge to barge in and pull some dishes out of their cupboards just to satisfy his desire to see the place looking alive and occupied. It was silly, he decided, forcing himself to believe the thought.

At that moment, a soft creak snapped his ears to attention. He turned a would-be casual glance to the source of the noise. Light was spilling on the polished tile floor like flour from a too-full sack. Leaning on a door with poorly greased hinges was a man with a large belly and a large smile, clothed, as ever he was, in a habit of some color, impossible to discern. A man with a ready laugh and a heavy topknot of sleek black hair, whose generosity Briar was to remember to his very last day.

"Back from your travels, I see, young Master Moss."

"That I am, Dedicate Gorse," said Briar, feeling a boy again, with a grin.

"I trust you've satisfied your wanderlust. For the next few months, at least," said the Dedicate.

Briar's grin widened. "Oh, yes," he said, "I'll certainly be staying for a month or two."

"A month or two only?" asked Gorse, quirking his brows.

"Maybe longer," said Briar, feigning consideration.

"Then unless you have changed a great deal in your years away, I believe a midnight nibble wouldn't come amiss?" Gorse bared his large, friendly smile.

"I haven't been away _that_ long," said Briar, a perfunctory complaint.

"Follow me, then," ordered Gorse, and he did.

He appeared to have taken temporary lodge in a cupboard, but seeing as how it belonged to the immense two story kitchens, it was quite a large and comfortable one. On a large wooden crate was set out an impressive array of treats, from heavy, coiled honey pastries to large dates stuffed with rich almond paste.

"Help yourself," offered the cook with a smile.

Briar glanced at him shrewdly while selecting an apricot jam tartlet.

Noticing his look, Gorse smiled wider still. "I do appreciate the finer things in life," he said, quirking his eyebrows again.

"Don't we all," murmured Briar.

"Especially when they are all gathered together in delicious harmony," the cook mused further, keeping his eyes on Briar as he sat down on a sack of barley.

Briar took his tartlet and they settled themselves on a similar sack on the opposite side of the crate-table. Something about Dedicate Gorse's manner was almost suspiciously kind, he thought to himself. The finer things in life, indeed, he almost snorted as he finished his tartlet and poured himself a cup of rich carmine cherry juice.

When he looked up, the other man's eyes were still on him. Suddenly apprehensive, he sat tautly without moving a muscle, meeting that leisurely gaze.

It was the cook who finally broke the contact, reaching for another morsel. "Of course, some tastes are acquired," he said, and Briar had the distinct sense that he was not speaking to the pistachio sweet in his palm, although that was where he was looking.

Briar considered this carefully. Dedicate Gorse was a man of exquisitely refined taste, he knew, and Lark always did say that a compliment is worth as much as the one who gives it…


End file.
